


A Little Change, A Big Step

by Raven_Knight



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Gen, Holidays, Humor, Leonard "Bones" McCoy is a Good Friend, M/M, Thanksgiving into Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:36:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22219645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Knight/pseuds/Raven_Knight
Summary: With McCoy's help, Kirk builds confidence in his choice of gift to Spock, his bondmate, husband, and t'hy'la.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 21
Kudos: 88





	A Little Change, A Big Step

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. This piece, archived at Archive of Our Own (Ao3), is purely a non-commercial work of fiction from which I am not profiting in any way. This work may not be reproduced, archived, or redistributed by any means and/or in any format without prior written permission from me. Permission may be obtained by contacting me at r4v3n.kn1ght@gmail.com. 
> 
> Originally written for K/S Advent 2019, but the event never happened. I wrote this anyway. Enjoy this domestic fluff, everybody! ~ RK

**A Little Change, A Big Step**  
By  
**Raven Knight**

“Of all the damned places to pick, Jim,” Leonard McCoy shouted to his companion in the other room as he swept his paint roller up the wall for the thousandth time, “only you would willingly pick the desert in Arizona!”

An answering shout came down the hall. “What, Bones?”

McCoy set his roller on the paint tray and marched to the doorway to better use the hallway as a megaphone. “Why the hell’d you pick the middle of Arizona’s desert for this?”

James T. Kirk poked his upper body out of his own room’s doorway. His jeans and old t-shirt were splattered with paint. “Because it was only logical,” he said with a proud smirk.

McCoy rolled his eyes and trudged back to his waiting roller. “Logical,” he groused and dunked it into the paint before continuing on this room’s never-ending coats to cover up the horrific dark turquoise the wall previously sported. It certainly wasn’t logical to paint over that loud color with this one which someone somewhere got paid to call the color on his roller whipped apricot. What kind of name was that for paint? He doubted a Vulcan ever had the job of paint namer. “Logical, my ass, Jim!” McCoy couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he imagined Spock sitting at a desk in a paint factory staring at samples of paint colors and then coming up with a name for each one. “Probably would name it something like the Captain’s uniform shirt or The Captain’s eyes.” McCoy made himself gag and then devoted all his focus on evenly covering the hideous turquoise with the whipped apricot color and avoid any other thoughts. Painting the room, that was his mission.

A dull thud rocked him from his concentration. He turned to see Kirk standing next to the foldout table in the middle of the room, a beer in one hand. A beer he held out to McCoy. “Sorry this room is taking you a hundred years.”

“I haven’t even been alive for a hundred years.” He swigged from the bottle. It tasted fantastic. Then again, he imagined any liquid would taste fantastic in this desert heat. “But I feel like painting this one room is taking longer than the entire five year mission!”

“Well it has to be ready by Christmas, Bones,” Kirk reminded him with an exhausted sigh.

Immediately, all of his compulsions to complain about the manual labor dissolved like water in the desert sun and heat. McCoy fixed Kirk with a determined stare as though he could will his words into reality. “It’ll get done before Thanksgiving, Jim. That’s why we agreed to do that at my place this year.”

“To throw Spock off the scent.”

“Right! Because you and I have to sneak a few things here bit by bit over the next few weeks. And how the hell am I supposed to get Scotty and Uhura to get the finishing touches moved over here before they get to Thanksgiving Dinner if you can’t get Spock to drag his Vulcan ass to Georgia for a meat-filled meal?” McCoy laughed into his beer. “I don’t envy you that task of persuasion, Jim.”

Kirk’s smile overshadowed his self-consciousness. “I have my persuasive ways, Bones.”

Bones choked. “I didn’t then, and still don’t, need the details!”

“Sorry,” Kirk laughed before tipping his bottle back for a drink.

They drank together, enjoying their company even while surrounded by paint fumes. McCoy came up to Kirk and squeezed his shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Jim.”

“I know. It’s just—”

McCoy smiled. “A big step.” Kirk nodded. “But it’s one that’s been coming for a long time. I know I’ve been waiting for something like this since that whole katra business.”

Kirk’s eyes moistened at the mention of those events. He reached up to hold onto Bones’s forearm, needing something to anchor him. “I just hope he likes it.”

McCoy waited until Kirk looked at him. “If Spock doesn’t like it, not only will I kick his Vulcan ass, but I’ll move in here with you in his place.”

Kirk blinked and tried to cover his tears with a watery laugh. “Thanks, Bones.” He pulled McCoy into a crushing embrace. “Why do you think I made sure the house has a spare bedroom? You’re _always_ welcome.”

~~~~~~~

Kirk carefully guided Spock out of the hovercar by his elbow. “Jim,” Spock huffed with exaggerated but still playful frustration. “Is the blindfold entirely necessary?”

Kirk snorted. “For the hundredth time since I shoved you into the transport in Georgia, yes!”

“I repeat, it was a mistake to travel so quickly following the conclusion of Thanksgiving festivities with Doctor McCoy.”

Kirk’s hand on Spock’s elbow tightened. “Are you still sick from that bean casserole?”

“I have never vomited so violently in my entire life. I don’t understand how you continued to risk your personal safety after witnessing my reaction to that vegetable disaster.”

Kirk bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. He wasn’t laughing at his bondmate’s unfortunate reaction to the casserole, but at the implied mixture of Spock’s disbelief, jealousy, and offense that his Vulcan stomach couldn’t handle McCoy’s rich green bean casserole the way Kirk’s stubbornly resilient digestive tract could take it. Kirk kept down not only the initial serving, but several following days of Thanksgiving leftovers. Every time Jim scooped another heaping pile of it onto his plate, Spock glared at the casserole like it was a vile enemy that threatened his very existence. Kirk didn’t let that dampen his enjoyment of it. He loved green bean casserole and Bones made it the best. They ended up staying in Georgia and taking advantage of McCoy’s hospitality for much longer than Spock expected.

Spock sighed. “Are we nearly at our destination, Jim?”

“Yep!”

“I hoped as much once we exited the car.”

Kirk patiently positioned Spock to stand in the perfect spot in front of the Arizona desert dwelling he and Bones had spent the last several weeks painstakingly preparing for this moment. “Nothing gets past your observant pointed ears.”

Spock’s spine stiffened. “My ears had little to do with the observation. We were in transit one moment, stopped the next, and walking the moment after that. The only conclusion would be that either the hovercar has ceased functioning properly or we have arrived at our destination.” Kirk giggled from behind him. “And from your jovial manner, I can state with further confidence that the latter hypothesis is more likely than the former.”

Jim began working at the knot of the blindfold. “How about letting your eyes do some observing for now?”

Before Spock could reply, Kirk tore the blindfold away from his eyes with a flourish. Spock blinked to help his eyes adjust to light after having been deprived it for several hours. Before him stood a house he had never seen before. He searched the façade for clues as to their location, but nothing helped him figure out where Jim had taken them. He looked closer, into the windows, hoping for something, anything to give him a hint. A glint caught his eye. The object reflecting the light was an item Spock had many years of familiarity. “I was not aware that anyone of our acquaintance owned a tridimensional chess set, Jim.”

“As far as I’m aware, no one does.”

Spock tilted his head, the existence of the chess set in the window not correlating to their destination and why they would be standing in front of the home of someone neither of them knew. He turned to his bondmate with narrowed eyes, his frown making the slant of his eyebrows more sloped than usual. “Jim, whose house is this?”

Jim took a deep breath and smiled nervously. He lifted his hand. Dangling on a ring between his fingers were two keys. “Merry Christmas, Ashal-veh.”

Nothing computed for nearly an entire minute until one by one the clues came together in Spock’s brain. “You bought this home.” Jim nodded, still nervously smiling and awkwardly holding up the keys. “For me?”

“For us.”

“Why?”

Jim swallowed. “I’m already retired. You’re almost there. You always complain about the weather in San Fran and I thought we could both do with a little change.” His hand holding the keys began to droop. “I thought you might like the Arizonan desert. It’s kind of Vulcan-like, but it’s also still very much Earth-like at times. Like now, it’s a little cold but—”

“Jim.”

His mouth snapped shut audibly.

Spock looked back at the house with the new perspective that this wasn’t someone else’s home but one he could share with his mate. The chess set caught his eye again and his mind conjured up the image of warm nights snuggled in blankets and nursing tea or hot cocoa while battling each other on the multi-levels of strategy until the sun rose with the new day. He imagined not teaching, not answering to the admiralty, but having his mornings, afternoons, and evenings spent with Jim. Just the two of them, with each other and for each other. Home.

He turned back to Jim, seeing his mate tense with anxiety and uncertainty, his eyes lowered self-consciously and his arms hanging limply at his sides. Spock stepped closer. “Jim.” Jim’s eyes rose to his only enough to look at him through his long lashes. He stroked his fingertips over the backs of his bondmate’s fingers, his touch light and hesitant, asking and reassuring all at once. Jim wove their fingers together until they flirted around and with each other in the way neither of them could accomplish with words while they stood outside in the December air on the precipice of a decision for their future. “Jim.” With his free hand, Spock gently plucked the keys from Jim’s fingers.

“Spock?” Jim’s voice sang with disbelief, and cautious hope and joy.

“Merry Christmas, T’hy’la.”

Jim smiled despite his eyes filling with tears. He turned his hand until he could entwine their fingers and squeeze palm to palm in a bold declaration of passion by Vulcan society. Spock rarely indulged in the Human urge to smile, but not even his Vulcan upbringing or discipline could prevent him from displaying the smallest of smiles in the corners of his lips and the crinkles of his eyes.

Spock raised the keys between them. “Shall we?”

Jim nodded. Together they turned the key, opened the door, and stepped over the threshold into their new home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope this made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside like a cup of hot cocoa with marshmelons. Leave a comment on your way out, or hit the kudos button if you're really shy. Thanks! ~ RK


End file.
